


Major Tom (Working Title)

by Kocot



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alien Abduction, Aliens, Alternative Universe - FBI, Cereal, Close Encounter, Federal Bureau of Investigation, First Contact, Gen, Government, NASA, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, Outer Space, POV Third Person Omniscient, Science Fiction, Space Tourism, Spaceliner, Spaceships, UFOs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kocot/pseuds/Kocot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the near future, space tourism is a budding industry. Previously reserved for only the rich and famous, recent advances in technology have opened the door to the general public, and many people have decided to take the trip of a lifetime. But when the passengers and crew of several tourships go missing, the public begins to wonder whether it's worth the risk to travel into space. In order to save the industry, the government selects a handpicked team to investigate the mysterious disappearances. But no one can predict what lies in wait in the dark reaches of space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LlamaLlamaNewt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LlamaLlamaNewt/gifts).



> So, I'm doing this nanowrimo thing where I'm writing an entire novel in a month. And this is what's come out of it so far. So yeah, keep a watch, I'll be done this by the end of the month or bust, so it should be fun!
> 
> PRAISE THE CEREAL. PRAISE IT.

          Since the early days of humanity, the sky had been considered sacred. Perhaps because we were unable to reach it, it was where the heavens were situated, where the gods resided, and the land of angels. Once humans discovered the planets floating out in the space above their heads, they referred to them as “celestial bodies,” indicating their sacred location. The day Wilbur and Orville Wright first flew their majestic flying machines, they probably felt that they were touching the hands of their Lord. But even though the sky had become a regular lane of travel for humans, the vast expanse of space remained as mysterious and sacred as it had for ages untold. Perhaps heaven was out there somewhere, bringing light to the darkest reaches of space.

  
           As he continued his musing about the undiscovered country, Alan Turken gazed out the airlock at the vast blackness of space. At the edge of his vision, he could see the sun, a brilliant orb of fire clearly visible outside of Earth’s atmosphere. If there were gods, he mused, they had to live in a place like the sun: a palace of eternal light and splendour. There was still so much out there that was left unknown, even within the Solar system. The first manned mission to Mars was yet again held back as some new technological advancement was applied to the mission. It seemed as though the Red Planet was still a long ways away and just as alien as it had ever been.

  
           A second fiery object caught Turken’s eye, and at first he tensed, unsure of what it was he was looking at. Then he realized that it must be Mercury, a bright white dot not that far out from the sun at this angle. That was a planet that humans may never visit. The surface, if it could be said to have a surface, was far too hot for even the most insulated technology currently available to humans, and the one probe that had been sent to test the atmosphere had experienced too much interference once in the atmosphere and plummeted to the planet below. It seemed that Mercury would remain a mystery to humans for quite some time to come.

  
           Turken frowned as a third object came into view, completely unlike the first two. If the other two objects were balls of fire in space, then this was a creation made of ice. Its glimmering hull was in no configuration Turken remembered seeing previously, though by the way it was moving, he was certain that it was a ship. It also seemed much closer than the Sun, or even Mercury. With a growing sense of uneasiness, Turken continued to watch as the object moved closer to the spaceliner. The craft seemed to be pulsating in and out, in and out rhythmically, almost as though it were the heart of some giant beast. Turken finally managed to pull his gaze from the hypnotizing ship and attempted to signal the bridge, only to be greeted by a burst of static from the communication console. Fighting down panic, Turken opened the door to his quarters and stepped into the hallway.

  
           Just as the door closed behind him, Turken was thrown violently to the side as the ship shook. He braced himself for a hard impact with the floor but found himself floating down the hallway, propelled by the force of the vibration. Realizing that the artificial gravity on the ship must have gone out, he reached out to the nearest bulkhead and stopped his backwards momentum. Then, situating himself in position to push off from the bulkhead, he braced himself, mentally going over the instructions on what to do in an emergency situation. In the event of an equipment failure, the passengers were to meet in the lounge to ensure that all were healthy and apprised of the situation. Angling himself in the direction of the lounge, Turken shot off down the corridor, eager to discover just what was happening with the ship.

  
           When Turken reached the lounge, he was greeted by the anxious faces of three other passengers. He was sure that all of them were just as concerned as he was about the sudden lack of gravity, and he wondered if any of them had seen the mysterious craft floating in space. As he attempted to find a comfortable position to float in, he heard the door open again, and a fifth passenger appeared in the room. This man was completely unlike the other passengers: where they all appeared worried about the interruption to their trip, this man was positively beaming, with a large, classic Polaroid camera in his hands. Based on the cut of his hair and the fact that he was wearing large, thick glasses, Turken determined that he was not of the high-society caste that the rest of the passengers were. The man floated into the room and parked himself excitedly next to Turken.

  
          “Oh, man, did you see that thing?” The man gushed in Turken’s direction. “That ship out there?! Oh, man, you should have seen it! I even managed to snap a few pictures of it… Man, Jimmy’s gonna be so stoked when I tell him that I caught one on camera!” The man continued to bubble, clutching his camera like a trophy. Irritated, but also somewhat curious, Turken turned to the man.

  
           “What are you talking about, kid?” Turken didn’t tend to use a sharp tone, but the emergency on the ship was making him tense. The other man stopped gushing for a second and his eyes focused on Turken, seemingly sizing him up. Apparently coming to some decision, he floated closer to Turken and adopted a conspiratorial whisper.

  
           “The UFO, man! The Unidentified Flying Object! There was one just outside the ship, and as soon as it got close, the gravity went out. It’s probably got us in some form of tractor beam! Oh, man, I wonder if they’re grays. I hope they’re not Reptilians, man, I like my organs where they are.”

  
           The door abruptly opened once more and the first mate walked in, accompanied by two other petty officers. On his feet and in his hands were pairs of magnetic boots identical to the ones introduced in training. The petty officers began handing out pairs of boots as the first mate took hold of the situation, addressing the assembled guests.

  
           “As you have likely noticed, there has been some trouble with the electrical systems aboard the ship. These are minor malfunctions and do not jeopardize your safety. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you. Please proceed, utilizing these magnetic boots until such time as systems are restored. Thank you for you cooperation.”

  
           As the first mate turned to leave the room, the man beside Turken piped up. “It’s the UFO, isn’t it? It’s that ship that I saw out my window. Is it interfering with our systems?” The first mate went slightly flushed, then took a breath and responded calmly.

  
           “There are no unidentified flying objects within any immediate vicinity of this craft. What you saw was the International Space Station as we passed it. Based on the speed and angle of our engagement, we understand that it may have appeared in an unfamiliar configuration. I repeat that there is no need to worry, and everything will be sorted out shortly.”

  
           Suddenly, the ship lurched once again, throwing everyone who had managed to pull on a pair of magnetic boots. Turken turned once more to the window to be greeted by an expanse of pulsating metal. There was no denying the fact that there was something out there, and by the appearance of things, it was not something of human design. The lustrous metal was dark ebony, yet seemed to have veins of a much lighter nature spider-webbing throughout it. There were no discernible features this close to the ship, just a looming black shape that was somehow darker than the expanse of space around it. Turken felt the panic welling up in his throat again as he turned to look at the visibly shaken first mate.

  
           All of a sudden, the artificial lighting on the ship went out, and the room was plunged into darkness. There was a scream and muffled cursing as the passengers tried to make sense of the sudden catastrophe. Turken noticed that the internal hum of electricity, which had been present the entire journey, had suddenly disappeared, and that the ship was completely silent and still. He faced the first mate once again in the dim light of the pulsating metal, a cold sweat beginning to form on the back of his neck. “Are you going to tell us that we’re experiencing more ‘minor electrical malfunctions’?”

  
           Struggling to maintain composure, the first mate said in an unsteady voice, “We have just experienced complete electrical systems shutdown. That means everything: lights, gravity, even life support. We’re sitting ducks, and with our communications down, we can’t radio home base to inform them of our situation. Whether that UFO out there is responsible for this or not, we won’t survive for long in this condition. We can get you into the spacewalk suits, but they only have a few hours’ worth of oxygen in them.”

  
           The man beside Turken spoke up, his glasses flashing in the cold light. “Oxygen’s not going to be our problem though, is it? This ship’s got plenty of oxygen in reserve. No, what you’re not mentioning is that we’ll freeze to death long before we run out of oxygen.” At his toneless statement of this fact, a lady on the far side of the room began crying quietly. Her tears hung in the air like little planets, and Turken imagined those little spheres freezing before his eyes.

  
           Turken’s dark reverie was broken as a dull rumble began to be heard on the ship. The rumble gradually became louder as tremors began to affect the hull. Then, as suddenly as they had begun, the tremors subsided, and the ship was once again quiet. After a moment, one of the passengers spoke up. “You all heard that rumble, right? If we heard a rumble from outside of the ship, then that means that there’s atmosphere out there.” The man looked hopefully around the room before his eyes once again came to rest on the first mate. The look in the man’s eyes was grim.

  
           “That would be true if we were outside of the ship and heard it. However, even if there is an atmosphere out there, we have no way of knowing whether it’s capable of supporting our kind of life or whether it would kill us on the spot. I’m not about to risk my life on it, and I’m certainly not about to allow you to risk yours. Stay put while I go discuss with the captain what to do.”

  
           The first mate never made it to the captain. As he turned to exit the room, the ship became bathed in a blinding white light, brighter than anything Turken had previously experienced. He closed his eyes and shielded his face with his hands, instinctively doing everything in his power to avoid the light. He then felt himself go weightless once more, though not in the same way as when the gravity had given out on the ship. Panicked, he desperately tried to move his body, but found that he couldn’t. He then realized that he wasn’t sure he had a body, or that he was. Turken tried to hold on, tried to continue thinking about himself, about his life, about all of the things he had left back ho-

 

 

An hour later, an empty spaceliner lists in space like a wounded animal, its crew and passengers gone.


	2. Michael Lipshinski

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael's morning routine is interrupted by a call from his boss. Arriving at the office, Michael discovers that he has been given the case of his dreams. The only catch: it's a team mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post each chapter one day after it is written. This does not guarantee a chapter a day; I may write two chapters in one day, or one chapter in two days. Stay tuned for the rest. Also, now you'll truly understand the cereal humour.

          There was nothing Michael Lipshinski enjoyed more in the morning than cereal. Naturally, he would eat whatever was available to him, and he never complained about the food he had to eat, but when given a choice, he would always go with cereal. The type of cereal also wasn’t important to Michael; as long as the meal was cereal, he would eat it happily and thoroughly enjoy it. There was just something about the ritual of making cereal that appealed to him at the deepest level. Perhaps it had to do with all the pouring, he mused as he opened a box of cereal.

  
          Michael tipped the box over, then frowned when he didn’t hear the characteristic sound of cereal hitting his bowl. He peered down at the box, realizing that it was conspicuously empty. Michael thought for a moment, then a small smile broke out across his face as he realized that he had intentionally left an empty box of cereal in the cupboard in order to remind himself of what he’d been thinking of when eating breakfast the previous day. Once again lost in thought, he absentmindedly put the box back in the cupboard and opened a new box of cereal.

  
          Sitting down on his living room couch, Michael turned on the television and dug into his cereal. The television began intoning out the news of the day, but Michael hardly paid attention. He enjoyed the background noise, but he wasn’t terribly interested in the current state of affairs of the world. Barring the declaration of a world war or the end of the world, Michael couldn’t be bothered to remember everything happening in the world. However, as he continued to eat his cereal, one news story in particular grabbed his attention, and he began to listen in earnest to the news anchor.

  
          “A spokesperson for the space tourism company Orson Spacelines has confirmed today that they have lost contact with their flagship spaceliner, the Orion. Markus Zuelker, CEO of the space tourism agency, stated that communication malfunctions are unexpected but not serious, and has stated that the ship is still visible on radar. Zuelker went on to urge families of passengers on the Orion not to worry and that their loved ones are in no danger. This is the third space tourism company to experience issues while in space. Earlier this month, Alien Voyages and Astronomical Enterprises both suffered heavy losses when…”

  
          The sound of Michael’s phone ringing broke his concentration momentarily, but he kept his eyes firmly on the television as he fished in his pocket for his phone. Putting it to his ear, he answered the phone. “Phil, I’m in the middle of breakfast. Whatever the emergency is, could it not at least wait until I get in to the office?”

  
          The voice on the other end of the phone was deep and gruff, but the friendly undertones in the voice betrayed the relationship the two men shared. “Well, I’m sorry to catch you in the middle of eating – wait, let me guess, cereal? I just wanted to make sure you were watching the news this morning, figured you might be interested in what happened overnight.”

  
          “You talking about the Orion thing? Yeah, I was just watching the report on that when you phoned me. Sounds awfully familiar, and not necessarily in the good way. But you wouldn’t call just to make sure I was up on my mysterious spaceship malfunctions.” Michael grinned slightly as he continued to watch the news report on the television. There was something eerie about the strange disappearances that intrigued him, and he was eager to learn more. “What’s the part you haven’t told me yet?”

  
          “Well, with this last disappearance, NASA’s decided that it’s worth looking into the situation, and so they delegated the task of investigating to me. And naturally, the very first name on my list of people I’d want to investigate inexplicable phenomena was Michael Lipshinski. I’ll explain more at the office, but I just wanted to warn you ahead of time that you’re about to be on a case. Now, I’ll let you get back to that bowl of cereal.”

  
          “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be sure to come see you first thing when I get to work.” Michael hung up the phone, already beginning to mull over what he knew about the case. He had heard of the two previous disappearances; they had become headline news when it was discovered that the ships were floating dead in space with no signs of life on board. Both incidents had taken place within the span of one month, and this most recent incident was two weeks to the day of the last one. Considering that both of those ships had ended up derelict in space, there was a good chance that this third ship was already void of all crew and passengers. Michael wasn’t really sure where to begin an investigation, or how to profile an unknown assailant, if one existed. He continued to mull over the issue long after he’d finished his bowl of cereal and was on his way to work.

  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
          The entrance to the FBI headquarters did not stand out to the average observer. If one were passing by the street on which the FBI headquarters was situated, they would merely see a number of seemingly average people entering what could be any office building in America. However, to a keen observer, the headquarters building stood out like a sore thumb from the buildings surrounding it. The building was clearly a recent addition to the neighbourhood, as exemplified by the newer brick exterior and the general cleanliness of the thing. There were also a significant number of security cameras placed in inconspicuous areas, all pointing in the same direction. The windows maintained that slight sheen that betrays bulletproof glass, and even the doorway was subtly different than those around it, built somewhat thicker and more impenetrable.

  
          None of this registered in Michael’s mind anymore, as he had long ago grown used to its design. He punched his code in to the inset security lock of the door mechanically, with the practiced ease of one who has been doing something most of their life. Inside the building, he greeted the security guard seated at the front desk. He’d never made much of an effort to get to know the security in the building, and during the times when he thought about it, Michael almost always resolved to try harder at that. However, as today, he was often lost in thought with a less-than-approachable pensive look on his face. He walked up to the elevator (he’d long ago given up the resolve to climb the stairs to work) and pressed the button, then waited as the car made its way down the building.

  
          As Michael was waiting, another man appeared and opted to wait beside him to board the elevator. A distant corner of Michael’s mind registered that the man was mildly familiar, and another moment allowed him to remember the man’s name, Carl Sawyer. He worked in a separate section of the building than Michael, but he remembered seeing him at various times during the time that he’d worked in the building. The man was about his height, slightly heavier-set, and wore glasses. Michael always wondered why some people still chose to wear glasses when laser eye surgery was so cheap and painless. Michael was so busy with his thoughts that he didn’t realize when the man stepped into the now open elevator and beckoned for him to get in.

  
          “Hey, you going up?” The man inquired, a slightly aloof grin on his face. Michael looked up, a look of confusion on his face for a moment, before the words registered in his mind and he sheepishly stepped in to the elevator. Seeing that Carl had already pushed the button for his floor, Michael reached out and pressed the fifth floor button. Carl piped up from behind him, “Did you see the news this morning? Another one of them damn Major Toms…”

  
          “What?” Michael was momentarily confused, trying to make sense of what the man had said. “What do you mean, ‘Major Toms’?”

  
          “Ah, you know, those ships up there. The ones where the crews have disappeared? I call ‘em Major Toms, like that song, you know? Because they’re just floating there in space without anyone on them.” The man looked about to say more, but the doors of the elevator opened, and instead he gave a little grin as he stepped out. “Ground control to Major Tom, you know.”

  
          Michael stared after the man as the doors closed behind him. It would have never occurred to him to refer to the derelict ships as “Major Toms,” but he couldn’t refute the man’s logic. Shaking his head and grinning, Michael realized that he’d been overanalyzing everything since that first conversation with his boss that morning. Taking a breath, he attempted to properly compose himself as the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor. Walking down the centre hallway, he came to the door he was looking for and stopped. He reached out a hand and rapped three times on the wood of the door, clearly and confidently. A voice inside the room intoned “Come” and he opened the door and stepped into the office.

  
          The office of Phillip MacGregor is located at the end of a corridor that is exactly twenty meters long, on the top floor of the FBI building. The contents of the room reflect the personality of the man within, and the abundance of classical literature in the room paints a very accurate portrait of the man sitting behind the desk. There is a picture on Director MacGregor’s desk of his family, an action photo of him playing with his two daughters and one son. There is an open case file on the desk, currently being read by the man sitting behind the desk.

  
          Phillip MacGregor is the man behind the desk. He is not a tall man, but is blessed with a presence that could dwarf even the tallest of his contemporaries. His crimson locks have only just begun to gray and are still as thick as the day he was born. Bright, intelligent blue eyes rest within an unassuming face, and if one were to ask the Director what his greatest feature was, he would not hesitate to name those brilliant eyes. The man’s life is quite a distorted road map, ranging from periods of great happiness to periods of great loss, and all of this is clear from the lines on his face. Michael was always aware whenever he was in the presence of the Director that he was in the presence of a truly great man.

  
          The Director looked up from the case file, and Michael found himself graced with one of MacGregor’s all-encompassing smiles. MacGregor’s deep voice rang through the room as he greeted Michael. “Mike! You’re here somewhat earlier than I was expecting you. I’m assuming that traffic’s running nicely out there today?”

  
          “Well, I’d definitely say that the public transit is doing its job. So, Phil, you mentioned that NASA had a case for us, and I’ve been mulling it over the whole way here. I don’t know if I’ve got all the pertinent information, so I’d definitely be up for an overview on the case.”

  
          “Good! I was hoping you’d say that, because there’s a lot to this case, and I want to make sure you’re prepared enough to run a mission briefing for this case.” The Director gazed at Michael and he felt himself flush slightly.

  
          “You need me to be prepared to run a mission briefing? Why am I getting the feeling that this is going to be a group exercise?”

  
          “Because it is. I’m assigning you as leader to a five-man team responsible for the investigation into this case. Priority has also been given to your investigation, so you have most of the combined forces of the FBI at your disposal. But I’ll come back to that in a moment. First, I want to talk to you about the case specifics.

  
          “Since around 2010, there has been a surge in interest concerning the universe outside our door. Perhaps it’s an extension of humanity’s natural curiosity regarding the world around them; I’m not generally one to go into those philosophical debates. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that as soon as it was possible, people were planning trips to space. Initially, these ‘space vacations’ were reserved for only the rich and famous, due to the enormous cost of fuel for the ships and the relatively small space available for crew and passengers. However, as with everything, advances in technology rapidly reduced the price of commercial spaceflight, to the point where nowadays a trip to space can cost as little as $25,000 all told. This has opened the door for middle-class citizens to travel to space, and the industry has seen nothing but growth because of it.

  
         “However, the expansion in popularity hasn’t come without some issues. Any time that there is a crash or malfunction with one of these ships it is a catastrophe, and all but stops the industry for a while. With the recent string of mysterious disappearances, many people are thinking twice before booking a spaceflight. The industry is suffering so much that even the government is concerned, which is where we come in. We have been tasked with the mission of determining the cause of these disappearances, and ensuring that no further disappearances occur. Until we have done this, we are to monitor the flights of all other spacecraft to ensure that no one else is lost.

  
          “Now, let me cover the details of each disappearance. I’m sure you saw on the news that each disappearance was preceded by a loss of communication. What the news didn’t say was that accompanying the loss of communication was a loss of radar contact with the ships. They didn’t move, so far as we could tell. They simply disappeared from the radar. In each case, the ship remained off radar for about an hour and then reappeared. When we attempted to make radio contact, there was no reply from either of the ships. Once we deemed it safe, we prepped a team to investigate and sent them up.  
“What the teams found confounded everyone at NASA. Not only were both ships in pristine condition, but the oxygen, artificial gravity, even the lights were still working. There was no damage to the hull inside or out. The crew quarters and passenger rooms also gave no indication as to what had occurred; clothes had been left as one would expect them to be from day to day, and there were no traces of blood in any part of the ships. The airlocks had also not been tampered with and hadn’t even been opened since the ships had left the ground. There was no indication of what may have occurred, so the teams decided to check the black boxes.

  
          “In each situation, the black box recordings were eerily similar. They were both relatively normal up until around five minutes before we lost contact with the ships. At that point on both recordings, the first mate noticed something on radar, approaching quickly. The captains both dismissed the object as a radar artifact until the first mates insisted that the radar was functioning properly. It was at that point where the captain on the first recording noticed something outside the ship that he had never seen before and alerted the first mate. Both first mates then left the cockpit of the ship to go check on the passengers and ensure that they were following emergency safety procedures. It is basically at this point that the recordings cut out.”

  
          “Wait, cut out? Aren’t black boxes supposed to be able to continue recording in any situation, barring a nuclear blast or something of similar magnitude?” Michael had been listening to the briefing, absorbing every piece of information he could, but this piece of information would not process in his mind. “How is it possible that the black boxes cut out when there’s no damage to the ships?”

  
          “As far as the technicians have told us, it’s not. They don’t know of any phenomenon, natural or artificial, that can stop a black box from recording without leaving any trace of damage to the system. Anyways, the black boxes cut out for the entire length that the ships were off radar, then began recording again sometime shortly thereafter. Naturally, this left the investigative team pretty confused as to what had occurred on the ship, but judging by the look on your face, your mind is going to the same place mine did when I first heard wind of this.”

  
          “The technicians stated that we don’t have anything capable of doing this, right?” Asked Michael, his brows knitting as an idea began to form in his head. “Well, it’s simple then: it wasn’t something our doing. And if nothing human could have done this, then what if it was something alien?” A grin began to tug at the corner of Michael’s mouth as his boss gave a subtle nod, urging him to go on. “And what if the reason that we can’t find the crew is because they’ve been abducted?”

  
          “Now you see why I decided to put you on this case. I know you’re fascinated by the thought of an alien encounter, and in today’s world more than ever before, the idea sounds less like science fiction every day. Hell, I never expected to have the ability to speak face-to-face with someone a hundred miles away, but look at what technology has given us. And if it is a UFO that we’re dealing with, I wanted my top UFOlogist on the case.”

  
          “I’m hardly a UFOlogist, Phil. I’ve just got a healthy respect for alien life, should it actually exist. And the evidence isn’t hard to find if you know where to look. But I appreciate it, I really do. This should be an interesting case, and I’ll get right on it.” Michael moved to get up and leave, but the Director waved him back into his seat.

  
          “You’re forgetting that I’m assigning you a team to work on this mission. Now, I know that you’re not big on teamwork” – this statement drew an unsatisfied grunt from Michael – “but in this line of work, you have to learn how to cooperate with others sometimes. Hell, you’ve been at it for ten years now, Mike, and you’ve been on teams before. Don’t worry; they won’t steal your thunder. You’re still the team leader.”

  
          Michael sat back down, resigning himself to the fact. Though Michael and the Director were good friends, he was still Michael’s superior, and Michael wasn’t about to argue with him. “Alright, so I’ll play with the other kids. Who’ve you got lined up for the team?”

  
          The Director smiled. “Well, because of the size of these ships and the types of expertise that may be required, I’ve decided on a five-man team which you will head. The other members are all specialized from different departments, and will provide you with assistance whenever you need it. The first member of the team is a man I think you know: Eugene Roskov.”

  
          Michael knew Roskov well. Early in his career at the Bureau, he and Roskov had been assigned as partners, something Michael had despised even more back then. The man was a blood Russian, and carried with him an accent and a sense of inherent superiority that had driven Michael insane. Throughout the time Michael had worked with him, however, Roskov had warmed up to him, and when Michael had been shot during one of their missions, Roskov had not left his side until Michael was in the ambulance. After that, Michael had been assigned a desk position and he and Roskov had parted on good terms.

  
          “I don’t know if you’ve followed Roskov’s career since your accident, but he’s only gone on to become a better agent. I’m assigning him to your team as second in command and military backing in case you run into any trouble up there.” Michael thought perhaps his superior was joking, but one look in the Director’s eyes convinced him that the man was being completely serious. The Director took a sip of water, then continued.

  
          “The next member of your team comes from our technology department. He has distinguished himself in numerous scenarios run by the Bureau, and is the expert when it comes to anything electronic. He personally analyzed the black boxes, actually, so naturally he’ll be just as curious about what happened as you will be. His name is Carl Sawyer.” The Director noticed Michael’s raised eyebrows and raised an inquiring eyebrow of his own. “You know the man?”

  
          “Yes – well, no... I rode the elevator with him today.” When the Director’s eyebrow remained in its position, Michael elaborated. “I was lost in thought when the car got to the lobby, and he made sure I got on it. Talked to me a bit too, about the spaceships, actually. Called them ‘Major Toms.’ I figured that he was just… Well, I don’t know. You know what I mean though, about those people who work on the second level.” Michael looked imploringly at the Director.

  
          “Says the resident UFOlogist,” remarked the Director with a chuckle. “But yes, Mike, I know what you’re talking about. Remember, I was once in your position, many moons ago. But don’t worry, he’s not as out there as he may seem. And besides, ‘Major Toms’ aren’t a bad term for them, floating alone up there in space. I’m sure it’s not the first or the last interesting nickname you’ve ever heard.

  
          “Now, about the third member of your team. Knowing you, she’s going to cause a stir, and before you get indignant, I don’t mean because she’s a woman. Emily Kirst is a very special woman, very gifted in all areas of education that are generally covered in school, but she never went to university. In fact, she almost didn’t get to finish high school because the government wanted her. It turns out that Ms. Kirst isn’t just incredibly intelligent, she’s also incredibly… receptive.”

  
          Michael’s fists clenched and unclenched unconsciously as he confronted the Director. “You can’t be serious! You’re assigning an empath to my team? Phil, you know as well as I do that that whole science is bullshit. You can’t honestly believe that an empath could be of any help on this mission.”

  
          The Director remained calm behind his desk, unperturbed even in the face of Michael’s fury. He knew Michael well, and had expected that such an outburst might occur at his decision. He waited until he was sure Michael was done yelling, then put his hands out in a plaintive gesture. “What would you have me do, Michael? The government doesn’t share your conviction that these empaths aren’t legitimate, and they have shown an uncanny knack for knowing when someone is lying. I’m not assigning this empath to your team to keep you in check, Mike. I’m assigning Ms. Kirst to the team because she has proven herself in the field and because she may be able to help you understand what happened to the passengers.”

  
          Michael sat back again in his seat, clearly exasperated, but knowing that the decision wasn’t up for discussion. The Director sighed, then decided to put that conversation in the past and move on. “The fifth member of the team is a medic. On the off-chance that you do encounter any of the crews or passengers of any of the ships, we need someone up there who can treat any injuries they may have. Her name is Doctor Susan Langdon. I think that you’ll end up liking her… She’s your kind of person. You’re both good friends of mine, and you’re both stubborn as anything else.”

  
          “Alright, so that’s my team, then. Anything else I really need to know before I begin setting up a briefing?” Michael’s expression was earnest once more, and the Director smiled. While he was very opinionated and perhaps a bit eccentric, Michael rarely allowed things to bother him for long, and he was quick to forgive any perceived sleight. He would do fine with the team, and it would be good for him to be around people once more. The Director shook his head and Michael got up to leave. Just as he was about to open the door to walk out, the Director stopped him.

  
          “Michael, I know I don’t have to say this to you, but try to be careful up there. We still have no idea what actually caused this, and if it was a UFO, we have no way of knowing if their intentions were hostile. I don’t need your team going up there and creating just another space wreck. You’ve got a top-level team at your disposal, so use them as best you can. Good luck.”

  
          “Thank you, sir.” Michael nodded to his boss and then stepped out the door. It wasn’t quite noon, and already Michael’s day was shaping up to be interesting. He was now heading a mission that spoke directly to his passion for outer space, though it was it was unfortunate that it was to be a team mission. He was at least thankful that the Director had assigned him the lead position on the team and hoped to do the best that he could with the team in spite of his aversion to working with others. As he got on the elevator and made his way back to his desk, Michael began to contemplate how to relate what he had learned to his team, and a briefing outline began to form in his head. Whatever was up there, he was confident that the specially selected team would be able to handle it.

  
          He just hoped that he wouldn’t have to miss his morning cereal.


	3. The One Where They All Meet Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title basically says it all: this is the chapter where Michael meets his team. Also, there is conflict.

          Three hours later, Michael was standing at the head of the conference room table, looking around at the faces of his new team. Roskov was looking back at him with his signature half-smile plastered on his face, the model of a calm superiority. Sawyer wasn't even paying attention to Michael; instead, the man was squinting at a piece of technology he was holding in his hands, turning it over and over in what Michael could only guess was an effort to fix it. Kirst was sitting directly across the table from him, her hands folded politely on the table in front of her. From her expression, Michael could tell that she sensed his frustration; he just hoped that she wasn't able to surmise that it was from her being assigned to the team. Rounding out the other leg of the table was Langdon, leaning back in her chair in a carefree, relaxed manner.

  
         Michael gave the team one last once-over before he cleared his throat. “Well, now that we’re all here, I guess I’ll start the briefing. As I’m sure you were all informed before you came here, we have been given a case of the utmost importance. What you haven’t been told yet is that this mission doesn't concern anything on this planet. I’m sure you've all watched the news in the past week, but for those of you who haven’t, allow me to explain.

  
         “Over the course of the past three weeks, there have been unexplained disappearances of the crew and passengers of three commercial space-liners, including the one this morning. Now, I did some research, and I discovered that similar events have occurred in Russia and China in the past few weeks. All of the disappearances share some eerily similar characteristics: all involved commercial space-liners with a total complement of less than twenty five, all occurred at around the same time in the morning, and most importantly, all disappearances were accompanied by a loss of communications and radar contact with the ship in question. As there has been no indication that these events will stop, the government has asked us to step in and determine the cause of the disappearances.”

  
          Michael realized that Sawyer had his hand up and addressed him directly. “Mr. Sawyer, this is a briefing. You don’t have to put your hand up to ask a question.”

  
          “Oh, sorry, I wasn't sure of the etiquette.” Sawyer withdrew his hand as he continued, “Now, I’m glad that you’re eager to get into this case and such, but uh… Shouldn't we introduce ourselves? I’d rather like to know the people I’m gonna be working with.”

  
         Michael looked at Sawyer like he’d grown a third head, then realization flashed across his face and he let out an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, geeze, I completely forgot about that! Sorry, I can be a bit… scatterbrained at times. I’m Michael Lipshinski, but my friends tend to call me Mike. I've been here at the Bureau for just over ten years now. I tend to work on my own, so this whole team thing is something I’m still trying to get used to.” Michael stepped back slightly, indicating he was done talking for the moment, and Sawyer piped up.

  
          “I’m Carl. I work down in the electronics section, and so far as I've been told, I’m basically the local expert on electronics. I've been here, uh, about five years now. I was the one who decrypted the black box recordings from these Major Toms, so I’m definitely interested in being on this case-“

  
          Sawyer was cut off as Roskov interrupted him. “‘Major Toms’? To what are you referring?”

  
          Sawyer’s response was somewhat less confident; clearly, the Russian had managed to intimidate him. “Well, you know, the ships, I call them Major Toms, because they’re floating up there without, uh, well, without anyone. They’re just empty tin cans in space.” Sawyer’s eyes darted beseechingly around the room, looking for some form of refuge from Roskov’s cold gaze. Sighing internally, Michael realized that in   order to stop the team from breaking apart before even getting started, he would have to step in.

  
          “Carl told me about the Major Tom nickname this morning,” Michael intoned out loud, once again taking control of the situation. “Honestly, I think it’s a pretty apt name for them. Now, why don’t we get back to the introductions, alright?” He turned slightly to face Roskov. “Eugene, why don’t you start us back off.”

  
          Roskov looked for a moment at Michael, momentary temper rising in his dark eyes. Michael knew that he hated being referred to by his first name by any but his closest friends, but if this mission was to succeed, Michael knew that he needed his operatives to be able to trust each other. He gave Roskov an imploring look, praying that he would understand the necessity and shoulder his pride for once. Roskov remained stonily silent for a moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly and began his introduction.

  
          “Hello, I am Eugene Roskov. I suppose, since everybody is going by first name here, you can call me Eugene. I have been at the Bureau for over ten years, and was Michael’s partner early in my career. I am not certain how useful I will be on this mission, but I will do what I can.” The Russian sat back in his chair, causing it to creak in a vaguely ominous way. Sawyer didn't seem to have become any less terrified of the big Russian, but Michael couldn't help that for now. He nodded to the next person at the table, a slim blonde girl who looked rather younger than the other agents.

  
          Beaming graciously, the lady’s eyes took in the entire table before she began speaking. “I’m Emily Kirst, but please, call me Emily. I've been here at the Bureau for about three years now, though sometimes it feels like it’s been much longer. I wasn't hired so much as recruited for the agency due to my talents, so I've never really done much outside of the Bureau, aside from undercover missions and such. I’m really looking forwards to working with all of you on this mission.” Kirst nodded to the table as a whole, then looked to her side, where a slightly elder woman was sitting and waiting patiently for her turn to speak.

  
          “Hello. My name is Susan Langdon. I’m a practically trained surgeon, and I have been with the agency for more years than I’d care to mention. I personally hope that my services won’t be needed on this mission, as I don’t really care to see people hurt.” The lady smiled slightly as she amended, “Well, as long as they’re not one of my ex-husbands.” This brought a smile to the faces of everyone at the table, and for a moment everyone paused to process the information they had just absorbed.

  
          The moment of reflection was broken by Michael, who once again addressed the entire room. “Alright, so I've gone through most of the general information for this case. Anything else should be covered in the reports which were given to all of you before the briefing, but in case you have any questions, now is the time to ask them.”

  
          Michael faced Kirst as she asked, “Excuse me, if I may, but the records state that there was no way for the people on these space-liners to have gotten off the crafts, and yet no bodies were found. Do you happen to have any explanation as to why that is?”

  
          Michael forced a wry smile as he replied, “Well, Emily, I have a few theories, but nothing backed up with enough evidence that I felt it prudent to share.”

  
          “Well, Michael, now that I've asked, would you care to enlighten us?” Behind her polite smile and demeanour, Michael could sense a trace of hostility. Perhaps it was the fact that she had called him “Michael” instead of “Mike.” Whatever the reason, Michael was disconcerted by it, and attempted to keep himself from replying in kind. “Of course. The records on the ships all show that the  airlocks were kept firmly closed for the entire duration of both flights. Therefore, if the doors were all kept closed, but no one is on the ship, then there’s only one explanation.”

  
          “Transportation!” Sawyer blurted out, his face aglow with enthusiasm. “That would explain how the crew and passengers got off of the ship without using the airlocks!” He looked around the room happily, then shrunk slightly when he saw the critical look Roskov was giving him.

  
          “Alright, that would certainly answer the question. But forgive me if I’m behind on my scientific readings, but isn't transportation still conjectural?” Asked Langdon from across the table.

  
          “Well, yes…” Sawyer responded, clearly nonplussed by the rejection of his theory. “So far as I know of, no one on Earth has been able to prove in a lab setting that they could make transportation work.” He looked ready to shrink into his seat, and Michael felt a little bit sorry for the small man.

  
          “Carl is correct, there is no one on Earth who could have done this. However, that doesn't mean that it’s not possible.” Michael squared his shoulders as he continued, “There’s a good possibility that we’re dealing with a number of alien abductions.”

  
          “Alien abductions?” The voice from across the room was clearly barbed this time, with no pretense of politeness. “Do you really think that these disappearances are due to some sort of weird science fiction bullshit?”

  
          Michael glared at Kirst for a moment, then replied calmly, “Why yes, Ms. Kirst, I do believe that these disappearances could be due to some ‘weird science fiction bullshit.’ If you have a problem with my theories, the door is right there.” Michael crossed his arms defiantly in front of himself, clearly ending the discussion. Kirst glared at him for a few long moments, then let out an angry sigh and turned away. Michael addressed the group once more. “Now, if there are any other questions?”

  
          No one decided to reply, and Michael allowed his shoulders to drop. “Alright, good. We meet back here tomorrow at nine to begin training for this mission. If you have any concerns about the mission in the meantime, please do not hesitate to contact me. Briefing adjourned.” At those words, everyone around the table stood up. Sawyer virtually bolted from the room, clearly relieved to be able to get away from Rostov. For his part, Rostov gave Michael an informal salute and winked at him playfully, indicating that he had just been playing with Sawyer. Langdon left without a word, leaving Michael and the sullen empath alone in the room together. For a moment, there was silence, then Michael began to speak. “Alright, well, we can’t be fighting each other, so let’s talk abou-”

  
          “Why do you hate me?!” Kirst turned and practically shouted at Michael. He could feel the almost animal rage flowing off of the woman, and it took him a moment to realize that it felt familiar. Kirst glared at him as he stood for a moment, trying to think of what to say, where to start. He came to a decision and looked at her sadly.

  
          “Emily. I don’t hate you. I’m sure you’re a lovely person, and that y-”

  
          “Do you think I chose to be like this?! Do you think I wanted to be different? Do you know what the kids used to say to me, what they used to do to me?” Kirst’s rage began to subside and was replaced with a gentler emotion which Michael realized was sad frustration. “I tried to change who I was, what I was, but I couldn't. I couldn't keep from feeling everything, from sensing the true emotions of everyone around me. Those who called me their friend were either scared of me or disgusted, and those who hated me were even worse. I didn't ask for this, Michael. I didn't ask to be an empath.”

  
          “Emily… I’m so sorry.” Any anger in Michael’s body was gone, replaced by sympathy for the poor woman in front of him. Up until that moment, Michael had never truly believed in the empathic powers that modern science was touting so much, but seeing this broken girl, Michael had to believe. Her tears were those of someone who had endured suffering all their life for something they did not control or understand. “I don’t hate you. I just… never trusted empaths. I didn't believe that something so completely against science as we know it could be true… but clearly I was wrong.” Michael stopped talking and stood for a moment as Kirst sat there sniffling.

  
          “No.” The word almost made Michael jump at the tone and conviction behind the word. Kirst looked up at him and stared into his eyes and, he suspected, right into his soul. “There’s another reason that you don’t trust empaths. You've buried the feeling, internalized it, but I can tell that it goes deeper than a simple distrust of the science.” Michael was dumbstruck, unable to speak in the light of Kirst’s accusations. “You’re not about to change your mind because of my sad story, no matter how much you may want to. It runs much deeper than that.”

  
          “That is a personal matter, and I’d rather that you didn't continue prying.” Michael began to feel himself tense protectively and forced himself to remain relaxed. “Now, you seem to understand me, and now I understand your little outburst. So now that we understand each other, we need to be sure that we can work together. I’m willing to have you on my team if you’re willing to be on it. Can I count on you, Emily?”

  
          Kirst was silent for a moment, a distant look on her face. She appeared to be making a large, important decision, and Michael only hoped it was the one currently in front of her. She was silent for a long moment, and Michael turned to leave, believing her silence to be her answer. As he reached the door, Kirst stood and said quietly, “Michael, I’m no stranger to discrimination. I've been seen as different since I was a young child and I never let it stop me. Your hatred isn't the first time I’ve dealt with adversity. I’ll be there when you need me.”

  
           “I’m glad to hear it. I will see you tomorrow morning.” Michael walked out of the room, feeling her gaze trailing behind him. He had expected that he would have had to talk to her in private, but he hadn't expected her sudden outburst during the briefing. Perhaps he had misread her when he had scanned over her personnel file. Stepping into the elevator, Michael went back to work, putting his thoughts of Kirst to the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a conscious decision to stick with last names for every character except Michael, namely due to the fact that writing everyone's first names was becoming challenging for me. Some of the characters, like Roskov, are clearly more suited to last-name usage. However, other characters, such as Carl or Emily, would perhaps be easier with first names. Thoughts on this? If I decide to change the style for the rest of the novel, I will go back and fix this, worry not.


	4. Black Triangles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The official investigation begins! Something's been causing those disturbances, and Michael wants to know what. Also, we learn the story of Cassandra.

          At nine am precisely the next day, Roskov arrived in the briefing room and was greeted by the rest of the team. The others had had all just arrived as well, except for Michael, who had been in the office since six preparing for the day. Michael had reviewed all of the cases he could find of astronauts reporting UFOs in space and had run a background check on each of the missing persons to see whether there were any connections between them. As the searches had turned up no leads as to human motivation for the disappearances, Michael had become more and more certain that the unknown captors were alien. Turning to face his team once again, he began to relate the plan for the day.

  
          “I hope you all got a good night’s sleep last night, because today’s going to be very busy. I spent the morning looking up all cases I could find pertaining to UFOs in space, and believe me, there were a lot of them. The most consistent reported phenomena are, naturally, flying saucers, but most of these sightings have been debunked as asteroid or space dust. I tightened my search to cases that had accompanying mechanical troubles or loss of contact, and that gave me three cases, about ten years apart from each other. I would like you all to review the reports yourselves, but right now I’ll give you a quick overview of them.

  
          “The first case is from the early 2000s. During the night of October 7, 2001, the International Space Station was making a routine report with the home base at Houston when the commander was distracted by a crew member. Apparently, he saw something out the window, something that looked large and very much alive. The commander began to continue his report to Houston when the transmission abruptly cut out. Houston tried raising the space station several times over the next half hour, each time without success. After about a half hour, the station managed to make contact with Houston and related that a large UFO had shown up outside of the ship at the time they lost contact. When asked to describe the ship, they were unable to name a shape; they referred to the ship as ‘dark and glowing.’”

  
          “Uh, excuse me, Sir, but how can something be both ‘dark’ and ‘glowing’? Doesn't darkness imply an absence of light?” Sawyer sounded vaguely apologetic, as though he didn't want to contradict his superior. Michael made a mental note to have a talk with him about that. He didn't want anyone on the team to feel afraid to speak their minds.

  
          “Normally I’d say you were correct, Carl. But remember, this is a UFO we’re dealing with, so virtually anything is possible. Anyways, that report was from over twenty years ago, and the astronauts involved were thoroughly debrief and convinced never to speak of the incident outside of official circles. From their reports, the government didn't believe the craft’s intentions were hostile, and so didn't look into the case any further.

  
          “The second case that came up was from the mid-2010s. During the 2014 Winter Olympic Games, at a point where tensions were high between America and Russia, a similar incident occurred with the ISS. As the station was reporting in to hear the results from the second day of the Games, the transmission abruptly cut out, once again with no obvious cause. Again, home base attempted to re-establish contact with the space station to no avail. After a half hour, they managed to get through to the station and ensured that everyone was alright. The United States looked into the incident this time, hoping to determine whether the interference was caused by some new Russian technology. However, when debriefing the astronauts, the government discovered that they had encountered a UFO at the very same time as the communication disruption.

  
          “Naturally, this didn't make the government any less suspicious of Russia, and tensions were at their highest during this point in time, made worse by the Russian takeover of Crimea. The Russian Orbital Segment of the ISS was successfully separated from the station, and many took this as a symbolic separation by Russia. Luckily, we avoided a Third World War, but as you all know, things are still tense between Russia and America.” Michael looked over at Sawyer and Rostov, perhaps the perfect embodiment of the conflict.

  
          “The two reports didn't share many characteristics, unless you count the distinct lack of information from either case. The only connection I could draw was that they seemingly involved a UFO that cut the station’s communications systems. Now, the third case was the most interesting to me for a number of reasons. It was easily the most complete case, and the communications blackout lasted for longer than the other two cases. But that’s not even the spooky part: this last report is from less than two months ago, roughly a month before the first disappearance. Most of the case is similar to the first two, so I’ll go over what’s different.

  
          “First of all, the actual length of the encounter was about twice that of any previously, with radio contact being lost for just over an hour. During this time, the crew reported that a ship approached the station. As in the first case, the ship was described as glowing, but darker than the space surrounding it, like the centre of a black hole. There were apparently veins running through the ship’s hull, suggesting some form of stone composite. The ship seemed to be pulsing in a rhythmic fashion, and one crew member described the ship as a ‘giant, black heart.’ The government was in the process of investigating this sighting in more detail when the first disappearance occurred.”

  
          Michael looked around the boardroom table, making sure everyone understood the information he had just provided them with, then continued. “Now, this description of the ship got me thinking, and I decided to check the government records for UFO reports that describe a similar type of craft. Naturally, there were plenty of results in that section of the database as well, so I decided to parse through these results for words common to most of the documents. The term that showed up more than any other was ‘Black Triangle.’ Do any of you know anything about the ‘black triangles’?”

  
          “I think I remember reading some reports about unexplained medical illnesses related to black triangles.” Doctor Langdon was perhaps the last person Michael had expected to speak up, and he turned to her, a quizzical look on his face. She smiled somewhat self-consciously as she explained, “I did my thesis on burns, which tend to be associated with UFO encounters. Black triangle burns were always some of the worst, and generally looked like radiation burns, but they aren't caused by any radiation that we know of.”

  
          Roskov was standing somewhat apart from the group with a brooding look on his face. After a moment, he said quietly, “I know of the black triangles well. My brother had an encounter with one and told me of it later. The Russian government assured him that the UFO didn't actually exist, and that he had merely been observing some strange weather phenomena. He had burns on his hands where he had tried to guard his face from the heat of the encounter, but the government treated them without so much as an explanation. I never thought much of his story, until last year when he died from cancer.”

  
          The room was silent for a moment, not knowing what to make of the stoic Russian’s revelation. Michael had read that Roskov’s brother had died of cancer earlier that year, but he hadn't known that the death was possibly related to an alien encounter. Anger rose in Michael’s body as he realized just how incompetent the Russian government had been in dealing with the case. They had assured Roskov’s brother that there would be no side-effects of the encounter and then had completely left the man to deal with the side effects of the abduction. He was glad that their government wasn't doing the same, and was actually investigating suspected alien activity.

  
          “Alright, well, in deference to the rest of you, I prepared a brief about the black triangles as well. For now, we will be operating under the assumption that the mysterious UFOs spotted by the space station are actually black triangles. That’s not to say that I’m discounting any logical explanation for these disappearances; I just tend to find alien abduction the most likely reason for the disappearances.

  
          “However, we’re not going to discover much sticking around here on the ground. I got word from the Director earlier that we’re scheduled for training at the closest NASA facility starting tomorrow. We will be in training for three days and then we go up on the next available ship to investigate these disturbances. Until then, NASA has grounded all spaceflights in the country in an effort to keep anyone else from disappearing. They want us to get up there and determine what’s happened as fast as we can, because every day the industry is closed is money lost.”

  
          Michael allowed the news to sink in for a moment, hoping to impress upon the team just how important it was that they closed this case quickly and efficiently. If the investigation were to take too long, people would likely lose faith in the industry, leading to massive losses for a number of companies and would likely bring the country back into a recession, if not a new depression. It was imperative that the mysterious disappearances were stopped.

  
          “Alright, so that’s the plan for the next few days. What are we supposed to do today then?” asked Kirst, her brown eyes no longer betraying any malicious intent. Her entire demeanour had changed from the day before and she seemed more at peace. Michael realized that he was also feeling calmer within her presence, and wondered if she could sense that. He dismissed the notion, however, as he answered her question.

  
          “Today is to be a research day. There is still a large amount of information pertaining to these cases that I have not had the opportunity to examine, much of which would likely be suited to each of your unique talents. Susan and Emily, I would like you two to work together examining any information you can find about the crews pertaining to their physical and mental well-being. See if you could find any reasons that any of them might have for sabotaging a spaceflight. Carl, I’d like you to investigate the mechanical reports for the ships again, see if there’s any way that a mechanical failure may have occurred. Run any simulations you feel you need to; we have the Bureau’s resources in our hands, to be used however we need. Take up the entire lab if you have to. Eugene, I want you with me. We’re going to go over the official reports again to see if there’s anything I've missed.”

  
          Michael gazed around at the faces surrounding him, making sure to make eye contact with each one. “You are all on my team because the Director considers you the best. I've known the Director a long time, and I can’t say I ever remember him being wrong about anything, so I’m going on the assumption that you are the best. During the course of this case, we may see things, experience things that we would have never thought possible. I want you all to know that whatever happens, I consider it an honour that I get to work with you.” Michael let the sentiment hang in the air as he prepared himself for the task at hand.

  
          “It says a lot about you as a person that the Director designated you the leader of our group, Mike.” Kirst’s voice contained a warmth Michael never thought that he would experience directed at him. “If you think that we can solve this case, then I believe it. I think I speak for everyone here when I say that we are behind you one hundred percent.”

  
          “Thank you, Emily,” Michael said with a very real sense of surprise and modesty. “But I’m hardly anything to speak of. The main reason MacGregor put me on this case was because he knows that I’m into UFOlogy. Anyways, we’re wasting valuable research time. I want to see reports on my desk before you head home tonight!” With that, the meeting was adjourned and everyone broke off to go begin their research. Roskov waited until the others were gone, then turned to face Michael, his face betraying some inner distress.

  
          “Thank you, Eugene.” Michael’s voice was soft in deference to his friend’s condition. “I’m sure it wasn't easy to talk about your brother, especially the part about the abduction. Hell, you've never even told me about that, and you know I’m a crazy UFOlogist.”

  
          “I never told you because I figured you might start a crusade to try and find the truth.” Roskov’s tone was joking, but it contained a trace of sadness deeper than any that Michael had experienced in his own life. The man was clearly in pain, and Michael was unsure what to do about it, worried that the ten years had changed their relationship. Michael sat quietly with Roskov for a few moments until the Russian man abruptly got up and headed for the exit. Following behind, Michael noticed the stoic look on his face once more and realized that the discussion was over.

  
          Michael’s office was located on the opposite side of the hall from the boardroom, a luxury he’d been afforded after his gunshot wound. Though the wound had long ago healed, Michael had never been put back onto full-time field duty, allowing him more time to indulge in his hobby of studying unexplained phenomena. Michael had more or less fashioned himself after Fox Mulder, and if his contemporaries had been fans of classic sci-fi television, there was no doubt in his mind that he would have been known as “Spooky.” Stepping across the hall into the office, Michael sat down at his desk and indicated the empty chair across from it. Roskov sat in the seat as Michael booted up his computer.

  
          “You know, all these technological advancements, and they still haven’t figured out how to make these things boot up any faster.” This wry comment drew a chuckle from Roskov, and Michael smiled, feeling himself falling in to the routine from so many years ago. It would be nice having Roskov on this case, he mused. It had been too many years since the two had talked, as work and life had gradually taken them apart after Michael’s accident. Looking up from the screen, Michael addressed Roskov. “So, how have you been, Eugene? And I mean the real stuff, not the shit written in your report.”

  
          Roskov smiled and settled back into the seat, his large body filling out the chair. “Well, where do I begin, Mike? It’s been so long since we last talked, and I’m sorry for that. You know how undercover operations work, though, you sometimes lose track of people... Well, let me see, since your accident, I was assigned to another partner, who also got himself into trouble. I guess the Bureau felt I was a bad luck charm for people, so I got transferred to undercover ops until the Director transferred me to this. And let me tell you, it’s nice to not have to assume a new identity every other day! Even if it is to chase UFOs.”  
          “I see you’re still ever-the-skeptic, Eugene. And I’m sure you’ll do whatever you can to convince me that we’re dealing with an explainable, if not normal, phenomenon.” Michael looked at his computer and realized that it was ready to operate. Loading up the database, he looked back at Roskov. “Alright, the system’s ready. Let’s start looking up cases.”

  
          The further investigation by the two men yielded a wealth of results, and it was a good two hours before Michael sat back and stretched, signalling the beginning of a temporary break. He turned to face Roskov, his professional appearance once again giving way to a friendly smile. “So, Eugene, what do you think of the team?”

  
          “Well, it’s interesting that there are two women,” Roskov replied with a grin. “Though, you know that’s not where my attention has been focused. I think that Carl guy is a funny little man, and I like having him around. It’s nice to have someone to play with, especially when they’re cute.”

  
          “What, and I’m not? I’m insulted!” Michael let out a hearty chuckle, which prompted Roskov to laugh as well. Michael had long ago learned that Roskov was gay, but other than explaining the vaguely flirtatious interactions the two had shared, it had impressed little upon Michael. Roskov had never outright stated what it was that made him emigrate from Russia, but Michael expected that the homophobic views in the country were a major factor. Whatever the reason, Michael was glad that he had; while Roskov had found it hard to start in the Bureau, he had quickly become one of the best agents in their service.  
          “Well, what about you, Mike? What do you think of your ‘all-star team’? I know it took you a long time to warm up to working with me, and that was only one man. Then again, I was a big scary Russian, and these are rather attractive females. Do you think you’ll be able to handle working with all of us?”

  
          Michael sighed. “You know, Eugene, I’m actually not sure I will be. You and Carl are good enough, and I don’t foresee Susan being an issue, but Emily… I don’t know. She seemed so angry during the first meeting, and she confronted me about my dislike of empaths. I think we reached an agreement, but I don’t know. I’m still spooked by her ability to read emotion; it almost makes me think I should start believing in the science, however skewed it may seem.”

  
          “You know, Mike, I've always wondered why you, who believes so thoroughly in UFOs, have such a hard time believing in science that has been more or less empirically proven.” Roskov leaned forwards in his chair somewhat, a flash of fascination glimmering in his dark eyes. “Is this still related to Cassandra? You know as well as I do that she was a rogue and not representative of all empaths.”

  
          The “Cassandra” to which Roskov was referring was agent Cassandra Kerrigan, deceased. Cassandra had been the result of the government’s first foray into psychic processing, and had ended up as one of the first generation empaths. In order to help her powers develop, the government had put her through rigorous mental training and a number of experiments, many of which had never been tested before, even on animals. The first generation empaths had all become model agents early on in their careers and were frequently placed on front line teams in dangerous situations, where emotional nuances were the difference between life and death. The empaths had saved numerous operations with their uncanny ability to sense the true intentions of both agents and suspects. The empath program had been a resounding success, and the government was highly touted for its program.

  
          However, the success of the program was short-lived. Three years into their career, the first-ever government-conditioned empath went insane during one of their missions and killed a fellow agent before being taken down. As the empath had always had a somewhat violent disposition, the government assumed that external factors were to blame for the incident and hadn't taken any further measures to control the empaths.

  
          Cassandra had been the third empath. Three weeks after the first empath’s incident, she was assigned to a joint investigation with Roskov and Michael. Even at that time, Michael had doubted the science that had brought her into being and had requested that she not be a part of the mission, but the Director had told him flat out that his worries were baseless and that Cassandra was a fine agent. The three had begun the investigation without a hitch, and were about to apprehend the criminal when Cassandra began acting strangely. She complained of a headache and then was seemingly overwhelmed by the surrounding emotions. The commotion drew the attention of the criminals and Michael and Roskov quickly found themselves surrounded by fire as they attempted to get Cassandra to shelter.

  
          Once Cassandra was in a secure position, the two began to fire back at the enemies, managing to gain some ground from their position. Roskov became pinned down behind a pile of tires, and Michael looked on in horror as the enemy began to advance on him. There was no way for him to get over to Roskov, and there were too many men for him to fire upon with any chance of success.

  
          Suddenly, there was a roar of gunfire pierced by a scream unlike any Michael had heard before. He turned to see that the source of the primal roar had been Cassandra, her eyes blazing almost as madly as the guns that she had picked up. In short order the opponents were cut down, leaving Cassandra standing in the centre of the room, breathing heavily. Michael stood up and began to approach Cassandra when she turned on him, guns blazing once again. She reached the end of the clip almost immediately, but not before hitting Michael square in the shoulder, throwing him to the ground. Noticing the guns were no longer firing, she threw them down and ran at Michael, a primal look of rage and fear in her eyes. She paused, readying herself to leap on him and tear him apart.

  
          She never got that chance. A shot straight through her chest put her down to reveal Roskov standing behind her. The two men remained in position for a moment, staring at each other, trying to make sense of what had happened. As Cassandra lay on the ground, a strange, inhuman moan escaped her lips as she began to writhe in great agony. Roskov went to shoot her in the head, but Michael stopped him. “If you shoot her in the head, any study of her brain will be impossible.” Rostov looked at Michael, a genuine look of pain in his eyes, but he nodded and holstered his weapon. The two men stood over the body for a long time, paying silent respect to their late comrade.

  
          The incident had landed Michael in the hospital while his shoulder healed, but the prognosis was not good. The bullet had entered the arm in one of the worst ways possible, and had broken apart in his shoulder, leaving a number of tiny pieces in his arm. The study of Cassandra’s brain had indicated that massive changes had appeared in her brain, including a distinct suppression of the amygdala that had likely contributed to her psychotic episode shortly before death. Though it could not be confirmed, it was hypothesized that this brain chemistry alteration was the result of the government’s experimentation on the girl, and the rest of the active empaths were taken off of active duty pending a full investigation into the issue.

  
          Michael shook his head, trying to clear it of the all-too-familiar emotions that tended to show up whenever he thought of the incident. It was years behind him now and his shoulder had healed properly, but his mental wounds had taken much, much longer to heal. “I’m sorry, Eugene, I just can’t forget the whole thing. I know the government says that their new training method is much safer and that all of the simulations show that there’s nothing to worry about, but I can’t help but worry. You didn't see the look in her eyes, that terrified expression. She didn't know what she was doing, just acting on fight or flight. I don’t ever want to see anyone go through that again, and I’m still not convinced that these new empaths won’t suffer similar breakdowns.”

  
          “Mike, you know that they got the rest of the first-generation empaths and put them on all sorts of medicine to stop them from going crazy, and not one of them has experienced such an episode since. The government did everything they could for those poor souls, then slaved to come up with a system that would keep these new empaths from experiencing the same issues. There hasn’t been a single issue with them yet, and it’s long past the point where Cassandra went psycho. Why can’t you just let old follies rest in the past and move on?”

  
          Michael was quiet for a moment, brooding silently. He was about to reply when his phone ringed, and he picked it up, glad for a respite from the current conversation. “Lipshinski, what can I do for you?”

  
          “Well, I think that’s a question for another time,” was the wry response from the other end of the line. Michael went slightly red, then redder still when Roskov grinned and waggled his eyebrows. In the moment of silence, Michael could hear a bubbly giggle which he could only assume was Kirst. “You’re gonna have to work on that whole ‘witty response’ thing, Mike. I’m phoning because we’ve discovered something.”

  
          “Oh, excellent! Eugene and I were just on a short break from looking at these cases, but we haven’t found much. I’d love to hear what it is that you've discovered.”

  
          “Well, we were reviewing the medical records for all of the passengers and crew members when we discovered something interesting. You know in the old days, they used to say that you couldn't travel to space if you’d broken a toe? They were worried about what the effects of space and weightlessness might be on a human body, and didn’t want to chance something bad happening as a result of such an injury. We've come a long way since then, but some of those conditions still exist for government institutions like NASA.

  
          “However, commercial space-lines don’t tend to have any such rules, or if they do, they are much more stringent. The broken toe you suffered when you were five? It won’t stop you from achieving your goal of floating weightless in space. And that’s part of what I discovered about the passengers. On each of these commercial spaceflights there was at least one passenger with an injury or illness. The first disappearance involved a passenger with type-1 diabetes that he had been treating with insulin injections. The second ship had a cancer patient on board and the third ship contained both a hemophiliac and an asthmatic.”

  
          “Alright, that’s really interesting, but do you think it has anything to do with the disappearances?” Michael felt he knew where Langdon was headed with her hunch, but he wanted her to say it, to get a feeling for the investigation. He wasn't sure that she was terribly invested in the case based on her bland ambivalence during the few meetings the team had had.

  
          “I think the two may be related, particularly if our kidnappers are aliens like you say. It’s possible that they were taken specifically because the flights had people on board with diseases and chronic illnesses because whoever took them wanted to study their illnesses. I’m not usually one to delve into the realm of science fiction, but the possibility that aliens are responsible for these disappearances is becoming more and more believable by the minute.” Langdon’s voice held a slightly grudging tone, and Michael guessed that she had always been a skeptic when it came to the idea of extra-terrestrial life. He wondered if perhaps the Director had assigned her to this case as a sort of counterbalance to his enthusiasm, then dismissed the idea. Langdon was accomplished enough in her own right, and it only did the lady an injustice to think in such restrictive terms.

  
          “Alright, well, thank you for the update. Keep searching, but if that’s the only connection you find between all of these flights, it will be more than enough to look into. You and Kirst have done well today, and I have to thank you for that. Keep up the good work.” Michael hung up the phone and looked over at Roskov. The big Russian was sitting in his chair, a brooding look on his face. Michael smiled, knowing that the Russian was having a hard time dismissing the mounting evidence that aliens were somehow involved in this mission. “Those two seem to be doing an incredibly good job of investigating. Maybe we could learn a thing or two from them?”

  
          Roskov smiled and punched Michael playfully in the shoulder. “Well, maybe if we didn’t decide to take such long breaks we would get more done. There are still plenty of reports to go over, so we should get back to that instead of yammering on the phone all day.”

  
          Michael stopped and gave Roskov a long look. He wasn’t sure if he was more thrown off by the sudden shift in Roskov’s tone or the fact that the Russian had used the term “yammering” in everyday conversation. Making a mental note to monitor whether Roskov used any other slang in conversation, he turned back to his computer screen and immersed himself in the never-ending onslaught of UFO cases pertaining to “Black Triangles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra Kerrigan is inspired by two characters from other sci-fi series'. Cassandra was a character on Stargate SG-1 who was exposed to genetic manipulation and was given powers of telekinesis, though this was ultimately reversed to save her life. The other character is Sarah Kerrigan, Queen of Blades, from the Starcraft series. Her character is more similar to Cassandra's, as both are covert operatives, both have psionic powers, and both have a sad fate (though I suppose Kerrigan's is ultimately alright). Cassandra is a character that may pop up again in the future, but considering her status of deceased, I'll have to be rather tricky with my writing if I want to bring her back.


End file.
